


Soulmate at Solstice

by coup_de_foudre



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Background Relationships, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-08
Updated: 2017-07-08
Packaged: 2018-11-29 07:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11436159
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coup_de_foudre/pseuds/coup_de_foudre
Summary: Prince Valtteri has almost given up on finding a soulmate





	Soulmate at Solstice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkone](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkone/gifts).



> A bolts exchange treat for you, darkone! Here is a little slice of soulmate AU that I hope you enjoy 
> 
> characters' opinions on the priesthood, marriage, professors, alchemy, or astrology do not necessarily reflect the opinions of the author and probably not of the Tampa Bay Lightning either :)

The priests claim it is the natural order of things that soulmates find one another in the most ordinary of places. Does the peasant not meet his in the fields or along the road? Does the merchant not meet hers at market? It is also thus for princes and kings. So say the priests, anyway.

Even now, as Prince Valtteri has passed his thirtieth birthday unbonded, they _still_ say these things.

Val has never been accused of being overly devout, but as of late he has flirted with heresy.

"You might as well flirt with something," he can practically hear Pekka as he'd chided Val, but he's always had a sarcastic tongue.

Chiding or no, Val no longer believes that everyone has a soulmate.

~o~

"Not everyone, it's true," Crown Prince Ilari tells him one night as the brothers enjoy a private supper. "Don't let them say otherwise. On the other hand, some people have more than one soulmate; you know this."

There are three ambassadors at court that come to mind. Their arrangement appears to be a happy one. Val nods and his brother continues.

"And Lord Teemu's friend, no one can question his contentment at being unpaired. He has never had a mate nor sought one and all is well with him."

Val is surprised to hear his brother contravening the opinion of the priesthood. Crown Prince Ilari 's burgeoning reputation as a reformer is more apt than even Val knew.

"Little brother, don't look so surprised. The priests are good men by and large but they often keep old ways of thinking too close. However, I feel you are not like our friend Paul. Unlike him, you would not be content without a mate so if the prattling of the priests does not satisfy, seek counsel elsewhere. The University, perhaps among the alchemists and astrologers?"

It's an idea worth pursuing.

~o~

One of the many benefits of being the "spare" and not the "heir" is that Valtteri has the freedom to travel about the city without an entirely obnoxious entourage.  
He has his personal bodyguard Boyler at his side and two mercenaries of the elite Swedish Guard at his back, no more than that and no more is needed.

They travel to the University district by carriage but Val insists that they disembark at the gates so they can stroll the cobblestone streets as regular people do. They make for the beautiful onion domed buildings where Val hopes he will find Professor Killorn, the man his brother pledges will use the latest in scientific practices to help him.

Val remembers his tutors and imagines Dr. Killorn as a wizened, stopped old fellow with a white beard to his knees and dusty robes that drag the ground. He will peer at Valtteri through crescent shaped spectacles and recommend a leech or an amulet; Val will thank him with a silver coin before departing so his party can be at a riverside tavern for lunch.

Instead, the handsome man who greets them has brown hair still thick and glossy, a finely waxed mustache, neat beard, as well as breeches and cravat any dandy would envy.

Val tries to hide his look of surprise but the professor catches him out.

"You were expecting someone else, I think? That should teach you the peril of expectations, your highness." The professor laughs at his own observation as he beckons them inside.

The professor - _call me Alex_ he says- Alex's rooms are more artist's atelier than dusty scholar's quarters. Oak tables gleam warmly in the sunlight streaming through the windows, brass instruments - an orrery, an astrolabe, others Val doesn't recognize - stand amid blown glass vials and flasks and stacks of books in bright leather covers. There is not a special of dirt anywhere.

"Your message was intriguing. You feel the yearning for a soulmate but you have no prospects, feel no pull towards any person?"

Val nods.

"And the priests counsel you to go about your normal business because your mate will find you where you are."

Val nods again, grateful Alex understands.

"Hogwash!" Alex exclaims as he busies himself with an instrument, carefully calibrating it before turning to an open book on a lectern.

"I had to find my Andrej at a horse race of all places!"

"What were you doing there?" Val asks. He tries to imagine a professor, even a young and dapper one, at the betting queues at a race.

"Finding my soulmate, of course. Using the same methods that will find you yours." It's a mysterious statement but over the next four hours, as Val is poked, prodded, questioned and measured, Alex explains how he uses what he calls "the modern sciences" in his work. Alex takes a sample of blood and a swab from Val's cheek. He asks Val for the date, time, and place of his birth as well as his sensitivities to various foods, his preference for season, and the direction he faces when he sleeps.

"West," Boyler interjects when Val has to think about it.

Finally, Alex proclaims himself satisfied. "I'll send a message at the new moon," he promises.

"You'll know who my mate is then?" It almost seems too easy.

Alex snorts. "If only it were so simple! No, not who but how we are to find him."

~o~

Valtteri watches the phases of the moon with growing impatience. 

"Am I to be sent to a farm? Maybe to the sea?" He wonders aloud then wishes he hadn't when his courtiers chime in.

"A brothel!" Jussi says with a leer.

"An abbey!" Sami exclaims.

"A brothel disguised as an abbey" Jyrki adds as Tuevo chuckles "kinky!" beside him.

Only young Patrik is sympathetic, still young enough to be idealistic. 

"Perhaps you'll meet him at a dinner party as the Prince of Sweden did? They say it was quite romantic. I'm sure the professor will know precisely!"

Val considers this; it's as likely as not that he will meet his soulmate this way; perhaps he should proceed with having Tuukka, Master of the Revels, plan something suitable, a supper at the solstice or perhaps a masque.

As it comes to pass, neither.

~o~

When the new moon rises, a courier comes from the professor. Gossip has spread throughout the court so there is no chance that Valtteri will be able to read the missive in private so he does the next best thing. He takes the correspondence- a single scroll of parchment bound with a maroon ribbon - up to the high table in the great hall. There, at his brother's side, Val at least has the long and wide table between him and the bevy of curious courtiers.

Wisely, Ilari insists that supper be completed before the seal on the letter is broken.

The great hall is virtually silent as Val reads the professor's letter; he can feel all eyes on him, watching his expression for a clue.

What they see on his face Valtteri isn't sure as he tries to contain his surprise. There will be no fancy dress ball or intimate supper with a carefully curated coterie.

Valtteri passes the letter to his brother to read; Ilari's eyebrows rise as his lips move. His expression too, is unreadable until he sets the letter aside, raises his glass, and announces in a voice that echoes throughout the hall, "There is to be a great tournament! The festivities will commence on the eve of the winter solstice!"

Immediately, the court is abuzz about the most unexpected announcement. Even from his spot at the high table, Val can hear snatches of conversation.

__

A tournament? How positively medieval!

Who will participate?

Will there be jousting? Wrestling?

Valtteri has no answers; he will need to call upon the professor again.

Ilari summons Alex to the palace to plan the tournament. He arrives with a carriage full of instruments and books as well as a tall, thin man whom he introduces, with no small amount of pride and affection, as Mr Sustr-Killorn, his husband and bondmate. As Val observes the two of them together, his reservations begin to crumble. The idea of a tournament does sound quite mad on the face of it, but Val had nearly given up hope of a mate at all, much less one who would be as attuned to him as the Sustr-Killorns are to each other.

It is decided that there will be a pentathlon of sorts, suited for the time and weather, but events chosen especially via Alex's calculations. There will be events on ice, on horseback, with pistols, with sabers, and finally a trek on skis through the snow, ending the tournament at the royal lodge in the forest. It's an ambitious program, but Alex insists it will serve its purpose. Invitations are sent to nearly two dozen kingdoms and duchies, calling on them to send their best to compete for a purse and a medal of gold, presented by Crown Prince Ilari himself.

There is no mention made of soulmates or marriage or Valtteri at all.

This is, according to Alex, by design.

Valtteri is to be one of the competitors himself.

He balks at first; how can he possibly acquit himself well; he is on the far side of thirty and already news is coming of the competitors. They are all so young, these scions of houses great and modest, far and near. Not a one is a day over twenty-three. Even worse, Val can't see how any of them could be a bondmate for him.

"I'll be a sheep among lambs!" Valtteri is dripping with sweat, his chest heaving after a practice spar.

"Perhaps your bondmate isn't a competitor but a chaperone?" Pekka suggests, which doesn't make Val feel any better.

"Perhaps it isn't anyone at all and this entire situation is a farce."

"It's possible. But at least you'll be a one-man army yourself by the time you're done. Ready for another round?"

~o~

He assigns the review of acceptance letters to Alex and to Boyler, with help from Anton and Victor, his Swedish guards. Valtteri is too superstitious to read the biographies or look upon the miniature portraits that come with them, but he does listen to them as they discuss the merits of the competitors and their homelands.

Comte Jonathan of Quebec. Adam, Prince of Connecticut. Brayden of Calgary. Viscount Libor of Smrcek. Those and so many more names and so many imagined faces and bodies and dispositions that it is no wonder that Valtteri starts to dream of them.

One, in particular though Valtteri doesn't know who he is or even if he exists at all. In his dreams, the young man is shorter and more slight than Val is himself, though not by any great amount. His shoulders are strong and his hair is brown and tousled, soft strands falling over his forehead. His gaze is intense but his smiles are plentiful.

When Valtteri wakes from these dreams, he finds himself increasingly wanting.

~o~

He continues to train for the tournament with Olli, Patrik, and Sebastian who are competing for glory if not for Valtteri's heart and he is pleasantly surprised that he can keep up with them in some events and surpass them at others. He begins to hope that not only will he meet the young man from his dreams but that he will make a good impression.

When the eve of the tournament arrives, Valtteri rides into the arena with the other competitors. The sun set at mid-afternoon and every lantern, every candelabra, every sconce has been lit. The sky is clear, the air is crisp and cold. The overall effect is stunning but the competitors are wrapped in cloaks and hats of fur and felt cast shadows that obscure their faces. If his dream man is there, Val will not be seeing him. 

It doesn't stop him from looking or imagining he feels someone looking for him too.

He keeps his head clear the next morning, focusing on the tasks in front of him. The first events are indoors, in deference to those from warmer climes who are unused to the weather. Valtteri is called for the first saber match.

He dresses in his whites, sky blue sash affixed across his chest. He lowers his visor and steps onto the platform. Across from him is his opponent, similarly visored, similarly clad, though his sash is scarlet. He is smaller than Valtteri and more slight. He looks quick.

He is, very much so, and deft too.

Valtteri is skilled and experienced but he cannot gain the advantage. Every move he makes, it is almost as if it were completely predictable. The match is almost a dance, there are so in time with one another.

His heart beats faster and there is an echo, Valtteri can hear it. It takes him another moment to realize he can feel it as well.

His opponent. Valtteri can feel his heart beating as if it were his own.

Or as if this man commanded it so.

Suddenly, winning or loses the match is of no importance at all.

Lowering his blade is the easiest thing Val has ever done; taking the touch to end the match is a blessing.

The victor raises his hand to lift his visor but Valtteri already knows the face underneath.

The devastating smile bestowed on him is already so familiar.

~o~

The next time Crown Prince sends an invitation, it is for the summer solstice. There are no tournaments, no subterfuge, no plans concocted by priests or professors.

Well, there is the _one_ priest but only because someone has to perform the wedding.


End file.
